Baby Stuff: Angie

*Warning: Drug Use*

Raindrops tap the roof. The boat rocks gently as the breeze pushes it back and forth like a cradle. The rain is a half decent distraction from my current dilemma. I can't stop shaking my legs. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, but it blows out in a fast quiver.

"Will you relax? No one's out here in this weather," Sam says.

We're at a lake, or on a lake I should say. We crashed a party at the next town over, snuck into the movies, and now we're here.

I peer out the window, making sure there aren't any boats accompanying us, and thankfully Sam is right. The sky's a pastel pink. It'll be dark soon. The forest cascades dark shadows on the turquoise water. I can see why people come here.

Sam goes upstairs to the deck. She returns with a key. Pushing aside a mini fridge, she reveals a small black safe. She cracks it open and jumps on the bed beside me. I've been on her family's boat plenty of times, but I've never seen that safe.

She smiles, tossing me a ziplock bag. I don't look down, because I already know what's inside. I stare out the window, pushing my curls to a shoulder.

Am I really going to do this?

"Are you ready?"

I don't reply.

Her hair sits at her shoulders. Her blonde bangs fall above her round green eyes. "I hate smoking with noobs."

I stay quiet.

"Look, you've been stalling since I picked you up this morning. You asked me to bring you here, remember? You wanted something to numb the pain? I'm just trying to help you, Angie."

She leaves, returning with a bong. Then she rolls up some sticks.

"We'll start with these," she says, holding two joints. "And then we'll take a few hits out of the bong. I won't get you too high, but since you're going home tomorrow it shouldn't matter."

I nod, holding a joint to my lips. She lights it. The pungent odor is instant. It clings to my breath, clothes, and hair. How am I going to get this stuff off?

Stop thinking. Just do it. Make it go away.

I choke.

"Alright, slow down," she says, reaching for the blunt.

I back away and take a long hit. And then another. Over and over.

"Now we're talking," she says, happily lighting her own.

Tears streak my face, but I keep smoking. Sorrow tightens my throat in a sore hold, but I don't stop. Wetness drips from my nose, and I wipe it away, taking another hit.

Sam opens the window beside us, then lights up the bong. It rumbles like a boiling pot, and the smoke is a dozen times thicker than the sticks. She explains how to smoke it, but I hesitate.

"Ang, come on." She nudges me.

My hands are unsteady as I take a nervous hit. Everything feels slow... painless. I want this feeling forever.

"This is just baby stuff. When you don't feel that high that you want anymore, let me know. I'll have something stronger for you."